Add this to my list of guilty pleasures: Finley just can't get enough of me. Sometimes when Tim is holding him and he's all upset, I'll come and get him and he calms right down and cuddles in. Considering that during the day he's sometimes crabby even when I do pick him up (during the designated crabby hour of the day, between 4 and 5 PM), I think I can enjoy that at least sometimes, he just wants the Momma.
I feel guilty because I worry it makes Tim feel like he's not as good at comforting the boy, but that's just not true. He's just got a mommy addiction, and I am the fix.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Happy HallowEHehNEEEEEHHHHHHghehpleh
I suck at Halloween. When we tried to go as Rogue and Ice man, I ended up being "girl in gloves with Stacy London hair" and Tim was "Mr. Sparkleface." He actually got laughed at at the Albertson's. And no kids showed up to our house that year. It was super lame.
Last Halloween I had morning sickness. 'Nuf said.
And we never get invited to Halloween parties, so we have no excuse but to stay home trapped by all the stupid kids who might come for candy, but never actually show up, and watch our jack-o-lanterns begin to rot on the porch.
I had all but given up celebrating this year. I was thinking if Tim's work had a party we'd just put on some fake mustaches and call it good. And then, lo and behold, I was invited to a Halloween party. I was so excited. And when I got sick (again) earlier in the week, I went right to the doctor for antibiotics hoping I'd be clean in a few days. And so with the hope of someone who is desperate to feel better, I spent yesterday pretending not to be sick anymore and finding THE PERFECT COSTUMES for our little family. For once, I'd had a good idea.
So we purchased the gear, grabbed the makings of some Halloween mini-cupcakes, and went to bed. Of course, I wake up today feeling like total garbage and sounding like my larynx had been run over by one of those dang Christmas truck parades that honk "jingle bells" until the spectators are deaf. Still hoping to fake it, I went to about an hour of Super Saturday with my mom, after which we had to drive home so I could take a five hour nap. And Tim and Finley are sick too.
Worse yet, we bought all the costume stuff at Target, so if Tim's work doesn't have a party, we can only return it for a gift card. They have the worst return policy. They wouldn't even let me return the effing prenatal yoga video I was doing when my water broke at 17 weeks. Brigands.
So as of now, we're all dressed up with someplace to go but no energy to do it and too much contagion guilt to risk getting anyone else sick by going anyway. And I can't even sleep it off because I'm too busy hacking up my lungs and several other organs. F my life.
Last Halloween I had morning sickness. 'Nuf said.
And we never get invited to Halloween parties, so we have no excuse but to stay home trapped by all the stupid kids who might come for candy, but never actually show up, and watch our jack-o-lanterns begin to rot on the porch.
I had all but given up celebrating this year. I was thinking if Tim's work had a party we'd just put on some fake mustaches and call it good. And then, lo and behold, I was invited to a Halloween party. I was so excited. And when I got sick (again) earlier in the week, I went right to the doctor for antibiotics hoping I'd be clean in a few days. And so with the hope of someone who is desperate to feel better, I spent yesterday pretending not to be sick anymore and finding THE PERFECT COSTUMES for our little family. For once, I'd had a good idea.
So we purchased the gear, grabbed the makings of some Halloween mini-cupcakes, and went to bed. Of course, I wake up today feeling like total garbage and sounding like my larynx had been run over by one of those dang Christmas truck parades that honk "jingle bells" until the spectators are deaf. Still hoping to fake it, I went to about an hour of Super Saturday with my mom, after which we had to drive home so I could take a five hour nap. And Tim and Finley are sick too.
Worse yet, we bought all the costume stuff at Target, so if Tim's work doesn't have a party, we can only return it for a gift card. They have the worst return policy. They wouldn't even let me return the effing prenatal yoga video I was doing when my water broke at 17 weeks. Brigands.
So as of now, we're all dressed up with someplace to go but no energy to do it and too much contagion guilt to risk getting anyone else sick by going anyway. And I can't even sleep it off because I'm too busy hacking up my lungs and several other organs. F my life.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Coping
I'm not. Coping, that is. When Finley was still in the NICU, a nurse asked Tim how he keeps going every day, but everyone knows the answer to that question. You just do. You get up in the morning, breathe in and out, etc. It doesn't matter how little you want to or how much it hurts. You do it. There isn't a choice.
A woman in the ward I grew up in lost her son, who wasn't much older than my brother. A few weeks later, she died too. The obituary said it was from a broken heart, and I keep wondering if that's a real thing, or if it's a euphemism. I think it's a real thing. Her surviving son and husband somehow still live, though. No matter how much or how little they want to, here they are, on Earth, breathing in and out.
Life and death just don't belong to us mortals.
How do we live with that? How can I find hope among the mourning and fear? How do I know the world won't collapse around me tomorrow when one day, not so very long ago, it did just that? How do I hang on for the future I believe in when I don't believe I'm good enough to get there?
And how do I hang on today when I am literally falling apart? I've had more than seven infections in the past eight months, and my doc says my immune system may not be working properly. My sensitive-lunged baby and I got a cold around the same time, and while he's doing just fine now, I'm still a mess of snot and tissues and aching.
So I find myself here, with the best of all reasons to live and the one thing that makes living so miserable I am sometimes ready to crumble beneath all of the breathing in and out.
And though there are many days where I can inhale without tasting hell on my lips in the air here on Earth, today, past the time anyone would ask how I am coping, I would answer, "Not well. Not well at all."
A woman in the ward I grew up in lost her son, who wasn't much older than my brother. A few weeks later, she died too. The obituary said it was from a broken heart, and I keep wondering if that's a real thing, or if it's a euphemism. I think it's a real thing. Her surviving son and husband somehow still live, though. No matter how much or how little they want to, here they are, on Earth, breathing in and out.
Life and death just don't belong to us mortals.
How do we live with that? How can I find hope among the mourning and fear? How do I know the world won't collapse around me tomorrow when one day, not so very long ago, it did just that? How do I hang on for the future I believe in when I don't believe I'm good enough to get there?
And how do I hang on today when I am literally falling apart? I've had more than seven infections in the past eight months, and my doc says my immune system may not be working properly. My sensitive-lunged baby and I got a cold around the same time, and while he's doing just fine now, I'm still a mess of snot and tissues and aching.
So I find myself here, with the best of all reasons to live and the one thing that makes living so miserable I am sometimes ready to crumble beneath all of the breathing in and out.
And though there are many days where I can inhale without tasting hell on my lips in the air here on Earth, today, past the time anyone would ask how I am coping, I would answer, "Not well. Not well at all."
Monday, September 6, 2010
Anxiety
Do you ever get that feeling like you've forgotten something really important? Like you've left the stove on and you're a six hour drive from home and your stomach bottoms out because you're sure your house is going to burn down and there's nothing you can do about it? I mean, in that case I'm sure you could call the fire department and have them break in and turn it off or something.
But does it ever happen in a dream? Like you realize at the end of the semester that you signed up for a class and NEVER WENT ONCE? And you go running like crazy around campus trying to figure out how you're ever going to graduate, and you can't wake up until you realize that in reality, you got your BA like two years ago.
Or how about in your waking hours—do you ever get that terrible stress feeling like you're about to fail a test or something: your palms are sweating, your stomach hurts, and you think you might pass out? Well, I've been getting that. But there's no test. There's no class I didn't sign up for. There is no emergency, and I'm at home and no imminent danger approaches. There's always the chance I'm afraid I could die at any moment and I'll go to Hell, but though I may not be a saint, I'm thinking it's a little crazy to spend my days in a state of panic over that.
And really, that's what I've been doing. My body has gone stress-mad over nothing. As I type this my family is sleeping, clothes are running through the laundry, the house is relatively clean, and in the end, everything is okay. But my hands are clammy and I kinda want to puke. I'm lightheaded. I'm having that acute stress reaction I'd get for five minutes over a tense meeting or a bad report card.
But my life is fine. Right? Isn't it? Is there a bill I forgot to pay? Are parts of my brain rotting in my skull and the panic is the only way my body can tell me? Or am I just mentally ill? And in case you haven't guessed, asking myself these questions is not helping the stress situation.
*pant* *pant* *pant*
Thank goodness every day isn't like this.
But does it ever happen in a dream? Like you realize at the end of the semester that you signed up for a class and NEVER WENT ONCE? And you go running like crazy around campus trying to figure out how you're ever going to graduate, and you can't wake up until you realize that in reality, you got your BA like two years ago.
Or how about in your waking hours—do you ever get that terrible stress feeling like you're about to fail a test or something: your palms are sweating, your stomach hurts, and you think you might pass out? Well, I've been getting that. But there's no test. There's no class I didn't sign up for. There is no emergency, and I'm at home and no imminent danger approaches. There's always the chance I'm afraid I could die at any moment and I'll go to Hell, but though I may not be a saint, I'm thinking it's a little crazy to spend my days in a state of panic over that.
And really, that's what I've been doing. My body has gone stress-mad over nothing. As I type this my family is sleeping, clothes are running through the laundry, the house is relatively clean, and in the end, everything is okay. But my hands are clammy and I kinda want to puke. I'm lightheaded. I'm having that acute stress reaction I'd get for five minutes over a tense meeting or a bad report card.
But my life is fine. Right? Isn't it? Is there a bill I forgot to pay? Are parts of my brain rotting in my skull and the panic is the only way my body can tell me? Or am I just mentally ill? And in case you haven't guessed, asking myself these questions is not helping the stress situation.
*pant* *pant* *pant*
Thank goodness every day isn't like this.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Stupid Things
I saw an ad recently bragging that seven out of ten people who switch to Geico save money. I can't help but wonder what is up with those other three idiots.
Or the iPad. We can talk about the name all we want, but the fact is that Apple made a device that does the same things the iPhone does—minus making calls—with the "advantage" being that it's bigger. Because that's what we all want in our portable devices. Now, people like big screens, but what kills me is the incredibly inefficient use of space. There's room in that tablet to do just about as much as a regular netbook, but instead they've crippled the thing into only running apps and crap. It's backward innovation.
How about yoga classes? I've been looking for a place to get away for an hour or two a week and exercise, or maybe take a mommy and me class and get the kiddo some gym time too. And they're ridiculously expensive. Like $17 for one class, or $15 if you buy a bunch at once. What new mom can afford that on top of the cost of a new sports bra for her giant nursing boobs?
Or the iPad. We can talk about the name all we want, but the fact is that Apple made a device that does the same things the iPhone does—minus making calls—with the "advantage" being that it's bigger. Because that's what we all want in our portable devices. Now, people like big screens, but what kills me is the incredibly inefficient use of space. There's room in that tablet to do just about as much as a regular netbook, but instead they've crippled the thing into only running apps and crap. It's backward innovation.
How about yoga classes? I've been looking for a place to get away for an hour or two a week and exercise, or maybe take a mommy and me class and get the kiddo some gym time too. And they're ridiculously expensive. Like $17 for one class, or $15 if you buy a bunch at once. What new mom can afford that on top of the cost of a new sports bra for her giant nursing boobs?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
When I Grow Up
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a ballerina or a stand up comedian. Then I wanted to be a writer. Then I wanted to be a forensic pathologist. Then I wanted to write again. And then I wanted to do math. And then I wanted to edit. And then I wanted to do linguistics. I never particularly wanted to be a mom.
And one day I woke up and realized that being a mom was the most important thing to me in the world. It happened before that day a couple of years ago when a doctor first told me I was probably infertile. It must have been some time after I finally met a man whose children I'd be willing to bear. I could say my biological clock just went "ding" or the pressures of living in a breeding culture finally got to me, but I don't think that's it.
There are moments in life when you find your place and everything seems to work out. Like choosing a major I adored, or marrying a man worth marrying. And whatever compelled me to take what has been a rather perilous journey to motherhood, I say I have found my niche. Of all of the lives I have wished for myself, this is the one I still want the most.
I dance day and night to keep baby calm, and tell ridiculous jokes to a rapt crowd of one. I have seen more medical equipment than I care to talk about. I am writing two life stories and teaching a baby to speak. I am changing diapers. I am changing everything (which is also sometimes poopy).
There will never be anywhere else I am so much wanted or needed. This is what I wanted and needed. So I'll just admit it:
When I grow up, I want to be a mom.
And one day I woke up and realized that being a mom was the most important thing to me in the world. It happened before that day a couple of years ago when a doctor first told me I was probably infertile. It must have been some time after I finally met a man whose children I'd be willing to bear. I could say my biological clock just went "ding" or the pressures of living in a breeding culture finally got to me, but I don't think that's it.
There are moments in life when you find your place and everything seems to work out. Like choosing a major I adored, or marrying a man worth marrying. And whatever compelled me to take what has been a rather perilous journey to motherhood, I say I have found my niche. Of all of the lives I have wished for myself, this is the one I still want the most.
I dance day and night to keep baby calm, and tell ridiculous jokes to a rapt crowd of one. I have seen more medical equipment than I care to talk about. I am writing two life stories and teaching a baby to speak. I am changing diapers. I am changing everything (which is also sometimes poopy).
There will never be anywhere else I am so much wanted or needed. This is what I wanted and needed. So I'll just admit it:
When I grow up, I want to be a mom.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Guilt
My first mommy guilt trip is here. This is the reason my MIL says I will hate all future Mother's Days. This is one of those days I will look back on when having a pity party and thinking of reason after reason I'm not good enough. And the thing is, I'm generally really good at giving myself a break. I just can't seem to let this one go.
There's a Farnsworth family reunion in town this week. I love me some Farnsworths. And I knew we'd have to go easy on the activities because of our bitty baby (now like ten pounds). So I had some reservations about going to tonight's dinner activity. But when tempted with free pizza, I gave in. And . . .
*cringe*
. . . took my baby to a bowling alley. With loud music. And people. And germs. And now I'm blaming myself for his not-unheard-of pre-bedtime fussies. His totally normal feeling temperature. His typical schedule of sneezes.
Just when I was starting to get into the rhythm of this mom thing, the self-hate is here. Sigh.
There's a Farnsworth family reunion in town this week. I love me some Farnsworths. And I knew we'd have to go easy on the activities because of our bitty baby (now like ten pounds). So I had some reservations about going to tonight's dinner activity. But when tempted with free pizza, I gave in. And . . .
*cringe*
. . . took my baby to a bowling alley. With loud music. And people. And germs. And now I'm blaming myself for his not-unheard-of pre-bedtime fussies. His totally normal feeling temperature. His typical schedule of sneezes.
Just when I was starting to get into the rhythm of this mom thing, the self-hate is here. Sigh.
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